Rebuilding
by bookworm324
Summary: After the war, Harry is drowning in his grief and guilt; he feels as if he's lost himself. In a park in Venice, he runs into Draco Malfoy who, along with his former potions professor, will set him on a path of healing and acceptance.


Harry had learned to appreciate silence during the War. In those chaotic years any moments of silence had been few and far between; all the time had been consumed by the loud sounds and chaos of planning and fighting and grief. The few moments when Harry was truly alone were never really silent either — his mind was always racing on to the next step in their plans; making contingency plans and backup plans and all sorts of plans, counting the increasing places at the table that would forever remain empty. Now, after the war was over, after Harry had defeated Voldemort, he could not find comfort in the silence. With the silence came the loneliness, and the memories, and the confusion. But never the peace.

They'd told him a lot at Hogwarts. They'd told him that it was his destiny to fight Voldemort and that it was Harry — and Harry alone — who could defeat him. They told him that he had to be strong, be a leader for his peers. They told him he had to be prepared. But no one told him that war would be so cold and frightening and confusing. No one told him that Ron would die; that the girl who sold ice cream at Florean Fortescue's or Partavi Patil or Dumbledore or Snape or countless others he couldn't even name would all die before he'd even laid eyes on Voldemort.

The deaths ate at Harry like persistent parasites, chewing away at his heart — at his mind — until there was nothing left. It scared Hermione to see him drink so much and eat so little. He could see it in her eyes and for a while he'd feel sorry because she'd already lost Ron — he didn't want her to lose him too. But for an indeterminate time this was life for Harry. He'd drink until he passed out and wake up in his bed, Hermione slumped in a chair beside him, her worried eyes watching his every move, and he'd feel bad and then do it again anyway. This was life after war. It was a bittersweet victory for everyone; they'd saved so little and lost so much more.

When it was over, when the burning desire to forget had kindled down to a tiny ember in the corner of his mind, Harry felt lost. He'd fulfilled his purpose: The-Boy-Who-Lived had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It had been the sole focus of his life for so long that somewhere along the way, Harry had lost himself. He didn't know what to do now that the world had no more use for him. It made him restless and anxious, and one day, he'd decided to leave. Harry didn't know where he was going, or even, what he was doing; he just knew that he had to go, and so, he went.

He went, and with his leaving came the questions. During the day, it wasn't so bad since people were awake and there was the constant hum of life in the background. At night and in the groggy periods just after waking, he was completely alone, and so he found his thoughts turning to the endless questions circling his mind. Why wasn't he dead when countless others had lost their lives? Why was he sitting in a hotel room in a foreign country? Who was he now that he wasn't fighting a war? Harry didn't know the answer to any of these questions but they invaded his mind every morning and every night. The one routine he could not break.

He lived the rest of his days impulsively — writing letters to people long dead or watching people pass by his window during the days and exploring during the evenings. It was one such impulse that drove him to leave Greece for Venice five months after the initial leaving, his hotel room untouched but for some ashes; the remnants of a letter thanking The Saviour for saving a brother and admonishing him for not saving the father.

xxx

Venice was a beautiful city full of ancient buildings and winding waterways. Harry found himself admiring the old architecture and the elegant gondolas. He liked listening to the Italian people speak Italian even though he never understood a word they said. It was comforting to him; lyrical and soothing. He found himself taking long walks in the evenings, following the canal to wherever it would lead him. His second night in Venice, Harry noticed a path branching off from the one he was currently on. He had followed it to a park complete with twisting paths and majestic trees so tall he thought that if he climbed them, the problems of the world wouldn't be able to catch up to him for quite some time. Maybe.

That evening, he sat in that park until the sun had set, watching people interact and go about their lives. He'd only gotten up when his stomach had grumbled and he'd gone back to the hotel to have a meagre dinner, his thoughts once again consumed with the guilt of his existence.

Three evenings later, Harry had still not found any place he liked better than the park. It made him feel almost relaxed and he was drawn to the feeling like a moth to a flame. And so he went back to sit under the same tree to watch different people come and go. It was something he'd learnt to do after the war. Harry never know how much he missed because he was too wrapped up in his life to notice the lives of others. That is, he never knew until he saw Neville and Luna at Dumbledore's funeral, Neville's hand on her back almost casual but not quite.

So he watched. Harry liked to watch these foreign people in these foreign countries; it made him feel almost calm, which was so rare these days that he clung to whatever scrap of it he could find. People passed him like he was a part of the scenery — nothing important, no one to pay attention to. But on his fifth night in Venice, someone _did_ notice him. Harry heard a voice on his right, surprised and wary, say "Potter" and the illusion shattered.

He was having a hard time understanding Draco Malfoy's presence in Venice. He wasn't supposed to see anyone from the war, least of all Draco Malfoy. The surprise was such that he just stared at Malfoy slack jawed until he made a noise of irritation and Harry quickly closed his mouth.

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to dinner. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm taking a walk." Malfoy snorted and looked down at Harry imperiously.

"Doesn't look like much of a walk Potter."

Harry sighed and looked up at Malfoy tiredly. The blond wizard was still as arrogant as ever but the War had changed him too. Harry could see it in his eyes. "What do you want Malfoy?"

At this, Malfoy twitched as if surprised but didn't answer so Harry returned his attention to the people passing by. It felt rather surreal to Harry to be sitting in companionable silence with none other than Draco Malfoy but he supposed it was time to move on from petty schoolboy rivalries. Besides, his days at Hogwarts seemed to have been a lifetime ago.

"Let's go to dinner." Malfoy said abruptly.

Harry looked at him flabbergasted. "What?"

"It's dinnertime. I'm hungry and it doesn't look like you have anything to do. Let's go Potter." Malfoy began walking down the path, his blond hair catching the last rays of the setting sun, and for some unfathomable reason, Harry found himself getting up to follow.

They ate dinner at a small restaurant four blocks from the park. Conversation was stilted at first until Harry asked Malfoy why he could speak Italian so fluently and Malfoy quirked a smile. He told Harry about how his family had a summer home in Venice and how they used to come here when he was a child. How he would explore the streets from midday to late evening when he would come home tired and hungry. Harry listened, enraptured, as he discovered a new side of his school rival he'd never seen before, and in that moment Malfoy seemed so real to Harry. No one had ever felt as real to him as Malfoy did in that little restaurant in Venice.

After Malfoy had paid for dinner because Harry hadn't brought any money with him, they'd stood outside the restaurant awkwardly; neither knowing what to say.

Harry bit his lip nervously as he looked up at Malfoy. "Um. Thank you for dinner."

The man regarded Harry thoughtfully before looking away again. "You're welcome."

They lapsed into another comfortable silence, both taking comfort from the other. Harry hadn't felt this relaxed in a very long time; he'd forgotten how it felt. Relaxation had been a foreign concept for most of his life. He couldn't relax at the Dursley's because he was always afraid of being punished. Then he'd gone to Hogwarts and felt like he was a freak even in the Wizarding world; there was so much he was expected to know and do and Harry always felt like he wasn't good enough. Then there was the War and he never had enough time for anything never mind taking a moment to just breathe. Harry supposed he never really knew what it felt like until now; it felt good. He wanted to feel like this forever.

"I suppose it's time for us to part ways then." Malfoy looked at Harry and gave him a small smile. "Goodbye Potter."

"Goodbye Malfoy," he replied. As Harry walked back to his hotel that evening, he was surprised to find that he missed Malfoy's presence.

xxx

The next evening found Harry at the park once more, half hoping to see Malfoy again and nervous because he wanted to see Malfoy again. He wasn't disappointed. Around seven, Malfoy came down the path, walking briskly. He stopped when he noticed Harry watching him.

Gathering his courage, Harry stood up and began walking toward the canal, Malfoy a step behind him. They stopped at the canal and watched the gondolas, Malfoy's arm an inch away from his own. Harry liked the tentative peace he'd found while in Malfoy's company; Malfoy didn't expect anything from him and Harry didn't expect anything from Malfoy.

"Did you eat dinner yet?" Malfoy asked, quiet and casual.

Harry shook his head and wordlessly followed as Malfoy led him to another restaurant, bigger than the last one but still somehow cozy. That night, Malfoy told him about how he used to fly about on his child's broom when his father was out on business trips. How he had learnt that his name meant dragon and for weeks after, had fancied himself an actual dragon, flying around on his broom and breathing on his mother's roses.

In return, Harry told him about how the teacher at his elementary school had read the class a story about a boy whose nose grew longer every time he lied. How, for a week after, he would watch wide-eyed as Dudley lied to his aunt and uncle but his nose never grew an inch. Harry had thought it was magic.

At the end of the evening, when all the stories had been told and dinner paid for, they walked back to the spot beside the canal and parted ways with a simple goodbye. Harry once again found himself missing Malfoy's company.

As if by some unspoken agreement, they met again in the park the next evening, and the next and the next and the next. Sometimes they would simply walk, going wherever their feet would lead them. Sometimes they would go to dinner. Always, conversation would flow freely and Harry found himself learning something new about his companion every time. At some point during their explorations, they had stopped being Potter and Malfoy and had become Harry and Draco. When this change had occurred, Harry couldn't say but he was grateful for it nonetheless; he was getting tired of hearing his last name so often.

One night, Draco had taken him on a tour of his favourite places in Venice. Another night, they'd walked along beside the canal, turning when it turned, and talking about anything that came to mind, from Quidditch to dragons to muggle football. Yesterday, Draco had invited him to lunch. Harry had stopped mid stride and stared at him, surprised, until Draco laughed at him and Harry remembered to use his legs. All throughout that evening, the blond had pestered him to come to lunch until Harry had finally agreed. They parted ways that night with promises to see each other tomorrow.

The next day, Harry made the familiar walk to the park to meet Draco feeling strangely exposed. He hadn't been outside in broad daylight since he'd left London and it felt even stranger when he saw Draco waiting for him under the tree. In the soft light of the setting sun, everything was more muted, like a dream. Here in the harsh afternoon light, everything was brighter, clearer. He was really going to lunch with Draco. His _friend_ Draco. Harry almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but really, it could never have been anyone but Draco.

They shared their customary greetings and then Draco began leading them away from the canal down a path Harry had never been before. He found himself feeling more exposed in the bright light of day and couldn't help watching his surroundings carefully for any signs of danger. If Draco noticed his newfound paranoia he didn't comment on it. They walked in companionable silence for some time. Occasionally, Draco would point out places he'd visited in his childhood or restaurants that he particularly liked and Harry would give him a small appreciative smile in return. He wished he had good memories to share with Draco too.

Eventually, they turned down a residential street and Harry looked at his friend in bewilderment. "I thought we were going to lunch."

Draco turned to him, a glint of amusement in his grey eyes. "We are. We're having lunch at my house."

"Oh." He followed his friend past a few more houses. "Why are we going to your house?"

Draco smiled at him reassuringly and Harry found that it actually made him feel a little better. "There's someone I want you to meet. He said it might be easier if there was food, so I am taking you to lunch at my house." He paused, watching Harry critically. "Is that alright?"

Harry bit his lip, anxious green eyes meeting calm grey ones. He hadn't had much contact with anyone aside from Draco since he'd left London. Meeting with this stranger was a big step for Harry and he didn't know if he wanted to take it. Going to lunch with Draco was already such a big change for him. "This person. He's a wizard? Can I trust him not to go to the press?"

Draco looked him in the eyes and squeezed his arm gently. "Yes. You can trust him. He's hiding from something too."

Harry took a deep breath and nodded slightly. If Draco said this mysterious person was trustworthy then Harry would just have to trust that Draco knew what he was doing. They walked for a bit more and Harry felt his nerves growing with every step he took. Eventually, they stopped at a house at the end of the street. It didn't look like something the Malfoy family would own from the outside; at least, not the way Malfoy Manor did. As soon as Harry stepped through the door though, he knew there was no doubt about who the owners of this property were.

The house was bigger on the inside than it appeared thanks to a creative use of wizard space. It was elegant and grand in a way that subtly hinted at wealth and power. The floor gleamed and the large windows in his right let the sunlight in, glinting off the gilded mirror that hung above the fireplace. Harry found himself smiling a little. The foyer alone was bright, airy, and luxurious — it was much better than all of Malfoy Manor combined.

Draco closed the door behind him and gestured for Harry to follow him out of the room. "It's almost lunch time so I'll give you the grand tour after we eat. The dining room is this way."

They continued walking down the hall, passing what looked like a living room before Draco came to a stop at the entrance to another room. Harry stopped beside him, biting his lip as the butterflies in his stomach swooped and dived. He didn't know if meeting this strange person was such a great idea if Draco was looking just as nervous as he felt.

"Now, I just want you to know it's okay to feel angry or confused. You can yell at him if you feel like it; Merlin knows I was furious when I found him." Draco said.

Harry just looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

Draco sighed and directed him toward the doorway. "Just...it might be a bit of a shock."

Harry frowned at him in confusion feeling even more nervous now than he did before. The confusion turned into staggered astonishment when he saw Snape sitting at a table, drinking tea calmly as if it were any other day. Harry stood in the doorway, gaping, until Draco prodded his side and Harry looked at his friend in bewilderment. "Perhaps you should sit down."

Taking one step forward, Harry turned back to look at Snape who was watching him closely. Harry felt like he'd been caught sneaking out past curfew again. He drew in a deep breath and somehow found that he was capable of words. They tripped off his lips sharp and shaky. "You're s-supposed to be dead. You're... You have a grave!"

Snape looked at him dubiously and Harry felt his face flush. "I assure you Mr. Potter, I most certainly am not dead. As you can see, I am very much alive. Still not observant are you?" For a second Harry was shocked at how unchanged Snape sounded. He didn't know what he was expecting but it was certainly not this person who looked and sounded and spoke the exact same way as the Snape in his memory. It felt too preposterous to be real and yet too real to be a dream.

Harry bit his lip and felt himself grow redder as Draco led him to the table with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sit down Harry." Harry sat. "You should try to be more understanding Uncle Severus. You _have_ just come back from the dead after all."

Snape made scoffing sound and they sat in silence for a while, both of them watching Harry twist the end of his shirt around his fingers. Eventually, Harry drew in a shaky breath and looked up at Snape, who met his eyes calmly. "How?" The word seemed to strangle him on its way out.

"I kept an antidote to Nagini's poison in my robes. Always. I would have been a fool not to." Snape's gaze on him was steady. He spoke slow and measured, as if Harry was a wounded animal that needed to be talked down.

Unable to meet that unwavering gaze, he looked back down to his lap, fingering a stray thread on his shirt. "I thought you were dead." He whispered.

"I know. You thought what I wanted you to think." Snape's voice was more gentle than Harry thought could ever be possible. He nodded and bit his lip when he felt the traitorous tears well up in his eyes. If only everyone else had faked their deaths too. He didn't want to feel so guilty anymore.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Harry swallowed thickly and looked up just as food appeared on the table. Draco and Snape began serving themselves and Harry quietly followed suit. Lunch was a quiet affair, at least for Harry. His two lunch companions talked about potions and Draco's parents and the potential potions business Draco wanted to start. He discovered that Draco called Snape "Uncle Severus", implying a level of familiarity Harry hadn't known existed between the two Slytherins.

Draco tried numerous times to draw him into the conversation but Harry found he didn't have much to contribute. He supposed he was still in shock that Snape was _alive_ never mind sitting across the table. His chest felt a little tight at the thought and Harry had to stop to take several deep breaths. Draco and Snape were still talking about their potential potions business when Harry hurriedly excused himself to go to the bathroom. He made it to the living room they'd passed earlier just as the first sob passed his lips. Harry slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees as the sobs shook him violently. Some moments later a hand touched his shoulder and Harry reached out blindly for something to ground him. His hand found a fistful of shirt and he was pulled into that chest as he cried and cried.

xxx

He woke up in increments. The first thing he was aware of were the voices, low and soft. The second thing was that his eyes felt sore; the kind of sore you got after crying yourself to sleep. Then he remembered that he'd gone to Draco's house for lunch and scrambled to get up, almost falling off the couch he was laying on if someone had not caught him. Snape helped him back onto the couch and Harry was so startled at the gentle way he was handling him that he didn't even protest. Draco sat down beside him, handing him a glass of water as Snape retreated to the armchair to his right. They were silent as Harry sipped his water, a blush rising in his cheeks as he realized he must have cried all over his friend before falling asleep on him.

"Are you alright now Harry?" Draco asked.

Harry glanced at Draco shyly. "Yes thank you. I'm fine. Um. Sorry for crying all over you like that. I don't know what came over me." He felt Snape's assessing gaze on him as he fidgeted. Draco took his empty glass and put it on the side table, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright. I know it was a shock. Are you still hungry? We missed dessert."

Harry pressed his shaking hands against his stomach as he looked up at his friend before letting his gaze skitter away to the floor. Just the thought of food made him feel slightly queasy. "No thank you. I don't think I have the stomach for dessert."

"Alright." Draco replied. They sat in silence for a bit and Harry shifted uncomfortably as Draco watched him. He felt so embarrassed for crying all over Draco like that. He was supposed to be The Saviour wasn't he? Saviours weren't allowed to cry.

Eventually, Snape broke the silence. "Perhaps you would like to tell us what happened Potter?"

Harry shook his head, his gaze still on the floor. "I told you I don't know."

"Liar." Snape said harshly. Startled, Harry looked up at his former professor who merely sneered at him. "You will tell me now. Do not lie to me Potter."

"I'm not lying." Harry whispered. "I really don't know." He felt his breath catch in his throat. A tear trickled out of the corner of his eyes and Harry brought a hand up to his mouth to prevent any sobs from escaping, embarrassed and horrified at all the crying he was doing. Draco pulled him into his chest again and Harry broke apart in his arms. He didn't know what was wrong with him but he hoped it would stop soon.

xxx

The next morning, Harry had woken in Draco's guest room disoriented and confused until Draco had popped in to say good morning. Apparently, he'd fallen asleep again and didn't wake up for dinner, so they'd put him in the guest room to rest. Draco had shown him the bathroom and given him some clothes to change into after Harry had apologized profusely for all the crying and falling asleep but his friend had just waved it off. Now, he was sitting at the breakfast table with the two Slytherins in Draco's clothes which were slightly too big for him. He occupied himself with picking at the food and pushing the long sleeves up every few minutes as he listened avidly to Draco and Snape talk. There was something strangely calming about sitting to breakfast with Snape and Draco that Harry didn't fully understand but wasn't willing to question. The maelstrom of emotions from the day before was calm and he couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm.

As they were reaching the end of breakfast, Harry glanced up and startled a bit as he met Draco's eyes across the table. "Harry, why didn't you use a shrinking charm? My clothes are far too big for you."

Harry tugged self consciously at the green shirt he was wearing. "I-I didn't think to. It doesn't matter does it? I'm going to go back to my hotel today anyway."

There was silence as Snape and Draco regarded him critically. Harry could feel their eyes on him and he bit his lip uncomfortably. He was sure he hadn't said anything wrong, so why were they staring at him so intently? Eventually, Snape set his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair. "How long are you planning to stay in Venice Potter?"

Harry shrugged and glanced out the window where a bird was perched on a branch, looking in at them. "I just planned to stay until I felt the urge to leave."

Snape raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You plan to live out of a hotel in a country where you do not even know the language for an indefinite amount of time? When will you return to London?"

Looking down at his lap, Harry shrugged again. "I don't know. I don't think I can right now," he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a while as Harry's words settled over them until Draco cleared his throat and called for a house elf to clear the table. Then he turned back to Harry and watched him closely. "You could live here, you know."

"What?" Harry asked, shocked. Draco just looked at him, and unidentifiable expression on his face. He didn't know what to think. "I couldn't possibly impose myself on you like that. I'll probably be gone soon anyway."

Snape scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Potter. It's been almost two months and you are still here. Why should you continue to waste your money when we are offering you a place to stay? " Harry bit his lip, staring at his half eaten plate of food. Snape was right. It was a waste of money to be living at a hotel for as long as he had let alone longer. To be honest, the thought of living here with Draco and Snape was appealing but Harry would feel like he was in their way all the time. He didn't know what to do.

"It's alright Harry. You wouldn't be imposing on anyone. We offered and Uncle Severus doesn't do anything he doesn't want to. Move in with us. You'll save money and I'll finally have someone to help me convince Uncle Severus to start that potions business with me, so we both win." Draco smiled at him encouragingly, his tone so confident that Harry knew he thought the matter was already decided.

"It would be in your best interest to take this offer. Do not turn it down so easily," Snape said, watching him closely.

"I don't know. It's... I just-" Harry waved his hands around, flustered and Draco laughed as he caught one hand in his.

"Just say yes Harry. It's easy."

Harry looked at Snape and Draco worriedly. "Alright. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad. I... Thank you."

Draco squeezed once and let go of his hand. "You don't have to thank us. There's enough room here for all three of us to live comfortably and you don't have anywhere to stay. It's the logical thing to do." Harry nodded and Draco pushed his plate closer to him. "We'll set up a room for you after breakfast."

"Thank you." Harry said again. He picked up his fork and they ate in companionable silence for the rest of the meal.

xxx

Harry had moved in that afternoon and the days and weeks that followed were the best days of his life. They would all three of them have breakfast together in the morning and then Snape would go to his potions lab and Draco would go to his office. Harry wasn't quite sure what he did in there but he didn't want to ask. Instead, in the first few weeks, he spent this time in his room napping. Harry hadn't been able to sleep more than four hours a night since the War. This was partly because of habit and partly because of the nightmares that plagued his dreams every night. He would go downstairs to the living room and sit on the window seat overlooking the garden and just watch the plants. Eventually Draco caught on that he wasn't sleeping when he came into the kitchen for a drink one night and found Harry in his usual spot in the living room. He'd sat with him in silence and Harry found his presence unexpectedly comforting. No one had ever just sat with him when he got like that. Hermione couldn't stand the silence especially after Ron died and the Weasleys had always been a big family, so they found the silence more uncomfortable than comforting. Draco had sat with him until Harry fell asleep and then had carried him back to bed. Now, Draco woke up to sit with him every night until he fell asleep and Harry told him it was unnecessary but the truth was he appreciated it more than he could say.

In any case, Harry found himself becoming more comfortable with not only Draco but Snape as well. Sometimes after lunch he would grab a book from the library and sit with Draco in his office as he did paperwork or read his own book. Neither of them spoke but Harry supposed they didn't need to. Other times, Harry would go down to Snape's lab and help him with his potions — cutting and dicing and mincing ingredients. It was methodical work — mindless but still rather relaxing. He would go there if he was having a bad day or if he just needed to keep his hands busy. Snape never asked why he sometimes came to the lab withdrawn and tired. Instead, he would take one look at Harry and hand him a knife, at which point they would work in silence but for the occasional instruction from Snape. In the evenings, Harry and Draco still explored the streets of Venice, ducking and weaving through the crowds as they went wherever their feet took them. Sometimes they would go back to the park where they met those first few weeks and just sit under Harry's favourite tree to watch the people pass by. It was in those moments that Harry was truly grateful to have run into Draco Malfoy.

The three of them had settled into such a comfortable routine that Harry hadn't realized how long he'd been living there until he walked into the parlour one day and saw a Christmas tree set up, soft faerie lights reflecting off the ornaments dangling merrily from the branches. Draco was sitting in the armchair sipping a cup of what looked like cider and watching the tree thoughtfully. Harry had stopped in the middle of the entrance and stared, open mouthed, at the sight. He didn't know how he'd missed that Christmas had come around again. Surely there were decorations in the shop windows he would have seen? After a few moments of shocked silence Draco noticed him standing there and raised his glass of cider in greeting. Harry stumbled over to the sofa and sank down onto it, still staring at the tree. Draco looked at him over the top of his glass. "Are you alright?"

Shaking his head, Harry fisted the hem of his shirt in his hands. "It's Christmas?" he whispered, almost reverently.

Draco watched him closely as he set his glass onto the table beside him. "Yes. It's Christmas in two weeks."

"Oh." It sounded feeble in the quiet that had settled between them. Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat. He knew why the holiday season was hitting him so hard but had no wish to share it with his friend. Perhaps he would write Hermione today instead; he hadn't written her since he'd arrived in Venice almost six months ago. Across from him, Draco took a sip of his drink, concerned grey eyes watching him intently. He stood up quickly, pulling his sleeves over his hands to hide the shaking. "I-I think I'll go write Hermione a letter," Harry mumbled. He turned to go but was stopped when Draco grabbed his wrist, his warmth seeping through Harry's sweater.

For a second they were silent, just staring at each other. The faerie lights cast strange and colourful shadows on Draco's face, causing Harry's breath to catch a little in his throat. He looked away toward the floor where there were no festive ornaments to catch him off guard. He was sure that Draco was going to ask him why he was being so awkward and Harry would end up bawling all over him again, and so it was a relief when, eventually, Draco sighed and dropped his wrist. "I know you haven't bought any Christmas presents yet. You must at least want one for Granger, right?"

"Um..yeah." Harry bit his lip, wondering where this conversation was going.

"We can go shopping tomorrow. I still have to get some gifts myself. Mother would never let me hear the end of it if I forgot to get her a Christmas present." Draco smiled fondly at the thought of his mother, a warm gleam in his eyes.

"Oh. Alright." The words were barely more than a whisper. For some reason, Harry felt a little lost as he stood there, biting his lip anxiously. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond, the words getting caught somewhere in his throat, and so he just stood there twisting his long sleeves in his fingers.

Draco caught his restless fingers in his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Well, I'll let you go write that letter now. I'll see you at dinner, Harry."

"O-Okay," Harry squeaked. He turned and fled from the room, a tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

After sending the short letter (Hi, Hermione. Still in Venice. How are you?), he spent the rest of the day in a daze, wandering through the house without really registering what he was doing. He'd spent some time with Snape in his lab, chopping and grinding ingredients while the man made potions beside him. Harry couldn't remember how he'd come to be in the lab or when he had started chopping ingredients but Snape seemed to understand his need for a methodical task to complete and so they had spent three hours in silence but for the sounds of potions bubbling in their cauldrons and Harry's knife as he chopped and chopped. Eventually, Snape had laid a careful hand on his shoulder and told him it was time for dinner. Harry had nodded absently and followed the man to the dining room where Draco was waiting for them.

For the life of him, he couldn't recall what they had talked about at dinner or if he had eaten anything at all but somehow he had made it to his bed and under the covers. Sleep wouldn't come to him that night but Harry didn't want to go down to the living room so he simply watched the stars outside his window, and for the first time in a while, Harry found himself thinking of his questions again. He still didn't know who he was and he didn't know why he wasn't dead but this time the questions didn't fill him with as much guilt and despair they usually did. Of course, those feelings were still there — Harry didn't think they would ever go away — but he didn't feel like he was drowning in them now that he'd found some measure of security here in the walls of Draco's house. Harry thought of Draco waiting fruitlessly for him to come join him on the window seat downstairs and felt indescribably guilty all over again.

xxx

Harry groaned as he followed his friend, dodging and weaving through the crowd. He'd barely had time for breakfast that morning before Draco had dragged him off to _Percorso d'Incanto_ — Venice's version of Diagon alley — to do their Christmas shopping. They walked along through the park, past Harry's favourite tree and turned down a path so innocuous Harry would have walked right past it if Draco had not stopped him. For a while they walked in silence, the birds chirping in the trees above until suddenly the forest ended and the path opened up to a bustling street lined with shop fronts and street vendors. Witches and wizards bustled past them on their own errands as, beside him, Draco smirked at Harry's slack jawed expression.

The Percorso was so different from its London counterpart. For one, it was far more crowded here than in Diagon alley. Even the buildings themselves were so tightly squeezed together that their sides almost touched. The street vendors were set up all along the cobblestone street, the shop fronts forming a riotous background as each one was painted a different colour. Christmas decorations hung on every store, there were wreaths and boughs of ivy strung on lamp posts and carts and the faint tinkling of bells could be heard as carollers made their way down the street. It was so unlike Diagon alley and yet somehow still so similar that it was startling. Harry was disappointed he only had a minute to take it all in before Draco had pulled him into the fray.

That had been four hours ago. He was now following Draco into a little restaurant overlooking a central courtyard complete with a fountain. He had been dragged into almost every store on the street and it wasn't until he complained of being both tired and hungry that Draco agreed to stop for lunch. They dined in a little restaurant overlooking the fountain. As they waited for their food to arrive, Harry watched as a little boy toddled toward the fountain, holding onto his father's hand and giggling happily. They stopped by the edge of the fountain and the man laughed as the toddler pointed at the water, bouncing up and down. The boy was scooped up into his father's arms and they watched the fountain for a while before moving on, the little boy still babbling away as the man held him with an indulgent smile. For some reason Harry couldn't say, the scene made his throat close up and his eyes burn and he took a breath to calm down but it didn't seem to be working very well.

Draco reached over to squeeze his hand, which Harry could feel trembling slightly against his friend's steady grip. "Hey. Are you alright?" he asked.

Harry swallowed thickly and surreptitiously gripped the hem of his shirt under the table. "Um, yeah." It would have been more convincing had his voice not wavered slightly. Across from him, Draco gave him a dubious look and Harry cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm… alright."

They were silent for a moment and Harry could feel Draco watching him as he pressed his shaking hands together in his lap. "Alright. We won't talk about it now but when you're ready you know you can talk to me right? Or Uncle Severus."

Harry gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

After lunch they'd split up to do their Christmas shopping for each other. Finding presents for Hermione and the Weasleys had been easy but he had a harder time choosing presents for Draco and Severus. Draco had suggested a book on the use of dragon saliva in potions — a rare book that wasn't already in Severus' vast collection. Harry was lucky enough to find a copy in a small book store which specialized in rare and interesting volumes. He was, however, having a hard time finding something for Draco. He was wandering down a side street when something in a store window caught his eye. It was a black leather bound book, fairly innocuous but for the dragon on the cover so dark it was easy to miss at first glance. The leather looked to be of good quality and the dragon was so elegant, Harry was intrigued enough to enter the shop for a better look.

xxx

By Christmas Eve, the house fully saturated in Christmas cheer, much to Severus's disgruntlement. Garlands decorated the staircase, mistletoe hung from the ceiling, there were elegant glass reindeer in every room and the smell of cinnamon and sweets permeated the air as the elves cooked what seemed to be enough baked goods to feed the whole population of Hogwarts. Harry was sitting in the living room, staring the pile of presents under the tree. Over the past couple of days he'd been receiving presents from Hermione, the Weasleys, Dean, Seamus, Neville and Luna. He imagined them sitting around a Christmas tree or the Weasley's kitchen table, eating and laughing, and a pang of guilt hit him so strong he physically flinched where he sat. Christmas was the time to spend with loved ones, especially this Christmas, when the Wizarding world was still recovering from such devastating losses. It was selfish of him to leave; it would be more selfish if he never returned.

"Hey, you okay?" Draco sat down beside him, setting two mugs of cider down on the coffee table.

Harry realized he was twisting the ends of his sleeves anxiously in his hands and reached down for a mug, the comforting warmth soothing his nerves. He turned back to the presents. "I don't know," he whispered.

Draco sighed. "Have you sent your friends their presents already? It's Christmas day tomorrow you know."

"I know. I sent them last week. How did my presents end up under the tree? I didn't put them there." Harry took a sip of cider, the drink warm and spicy, and hummed.

"One of the house elves must have seen them in your room and put them there. You can take them back up if you want but they'll probably put them back under the tree. They're unusually enthusiastic this year."

Harry shook his head. "No, it's alright. I just wondered is all."

Beside him, Draco picked up his own mug and they sat in silence for a while but for the crackling of the fire. "Do you miss them — your friends? The Weasleys?" Draco asked.

Inhaling sharply, Harry turned to face Draco, who was still staring at the tree. "Yes. Of course I miss them." How could he not miss them? Who would he be without them? Draco placed his mug on the table and turned to face him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Why haven't you gone to see them then? It's Christmas, I thought you would've at least flooed the Weasleys today."

Harry felt as if his stomach had dropped right out of him, hearing those words from Draco. He looked away, biting his lip. "I know but I just can't. I can't stand to be there and be reminded constantly of the War. Every time I look at Mrs. Weasley I feel so horribly guilty. She had to bury her child Draco! Ron… I don't know if I can ever go back to London, but I don't know how to move on from it either. What am I supposed to do now? Who am I supposed to be?"

"You're supposed to be Harry," Severus said dryly. Startled, Harry whirled around to find him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking at him like he was a misbehaving first year. Harry swallowed, looking down at his socks and apologizing reflexively. Severus sighed and went to sit in the armchair by the fire while Draco huffed a quiet, exasperated laugh.

"The War is over, Potter. It's normal to take time to mourn but you must begin to move on at some point. Do you think Weasley would've wanted you to dwell on his death as you do every night?"

Drawing in a sharp breath, Harry flinched, wrapping his arms around his raised knees. "How do you know about that?" he whispered.

"I told him. I was worried you weren't getting enough sleep and asked Uncle Severus if he could give you something to help but he said it was better to let you approach us yourself. Sorry, I didn't think you would mind." Draco bumped his shoulder against Harry's gently in apology.

"No it's alright and no, I know Ron would want me to move on and be happy but…" Harry buried his head in his knees, holding himself so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Every time I close my eyes I see him and all those people who died. I can't help thinking if only I'd been better — faster or stronger or smarter — maybe," he choked on a sob, bringing his shaking hands to cover his face.

Draco rubbed soothing circles on his back as Severus moved to sit on the coffee table in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Here, drink this. It's a calming draught." He raised a shaking hand to the phial Severus held out to him and tipped the potion into his mouth, shuddering at the taste. The sobs died down and Harry felt his body relaxing, sinking further into the sofa as Draco's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Now listen carefully Potter. It's not your fault people died in the War. It was inevitable that lives would be lost — on both sides. You didn't kill them and you shouldn't hold yourself accountable for something out of your control." Harry wanted to believe him so badly but he knew in his heart it was his fault, even if indirectly.

"But it _was_ my fault! If only I had ended it sooner…" Harry jumped, startled as Severus shook him roughly.

"You foolish child! You can't shoulder the blame yourself for every death that has ever happened — you would go mad. Listen to me for once in your life. emI/em am a murderer. It was by my hand that the Headmaster was killed and I will carry that burden for the rest of my life. You, Potter, have not killed anyone but the Dark Lord and it's safe the say the Wizarding world won't hold it against you."

"But I get letters sometimes. From people who've lost loved ones and they say it's my fault and I know they're - "

""Wrong. They're idiots Harry, don't let them get under your skin. These letters are probably from people who are grieving and looking for a scape goat. It's not your fault. My father killed muggles and muggleborns during the War, are their deaths my fault as well?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, grasping Draco's shirt in his hands. "No! No, you're not your father. You can't possibly think that."

"How is that any different from you taking the blame for the deaths of people you haven't even met?" Severus pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Harry and Draco both. Shocked, Harry tentatively wrapped an arm around the potions master's neck, burying his head in his chest. Severus sighed, "I realize you don't believe us, but you will one day. Harry, you were a child who should not have been forced to shoulder such a huge burden. Even with that blasted prophecy, you shouldn't have been expected to lead an army; that burden should have been ours — the adults — to carry. We have failed you, child. I am so sorry." He ran a tentative hand through Harry's hair, cupping the back of his head.

Harry sniffled and hugged Severus tighter for comfort. "It's not your fault. It had to be me anyway. You had no choice."

"He's right Uncle Severus. You did the best you could. Don't blame yourself."

Severus hugged them both tighter to him. "Thank you," he said gruffly. "Now enough of this depressing talk. Tomorrow is Christmas; we'll open presents, the house elves will cook a feast and you will both consume an abundance of sweets like little children." Harry giggled at this and Draco smiled, nudging his side playfully. "Draco will floo his mother and Harry, you may floo the Weasleys if you feel you can. It will take time but I _will_ see you healed from this war if it's the last thing I do. I made a promise to your mother — both your mothers — that I would look out for you. If for nothing more than to honour that promise I will see you both happy and healthy."

Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The room was silent but for the first time, he wasn't drowning in the guilt, instead, a sense of belonging and peace filled him. Tomorrow, he would write Hermione a proper letter, floo the Weasleys, and enjoy Christmas Day with Severus and Draco. As to who he was, and what he was supposed to do now, Harry still didn't know. The future was still vast and unknown, but now, he wouldn't be traveling the path alone. He knew, wherever he ended up, Severus and Draco would be there, and for now, it was enough.


End file.
